


Jǫtunn

by INMH



Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Crossover, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one will ever believe her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jǫtunn

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: That One Time Gyda Met Her "Grandfather".
> 
> Vikings takes place in 793 AD (this takes place maybe six months before the start of the series), the war with the Frost Giants takes place (according to movie-canon) in 965 AD but _shhhh let’s pretend they happened at the same time shhhhh…_

It has to be a monster.  
  
Gyda has seen plenty in her ten years: Bandits, wolves, raiders, all things of great danger and, on occasion, cause for great fear. But this thing, this creature that is shaped much like a man (except it is bigger, and its head looks rather funny) is nothing like she has ever seen before.  
  
She has more or less passed beyond the age where she could believe that a God was lurking behind every tree and bush. The stories are real to her, but Gyda knows that the odds of ever really encountering one of the Gods or monsters subject in them is slim. There are occasional tales of what are suspected to be a God coming amongst them in disguise, but other than that they seem to be quite removed from humanity.  
  
All the same, the stories are all she has in her store of knowledge to make sense of what she is seeing.  
  
Its skin is dark blue, and it towers far, far over her. Gyda’s father, Ragnar, is not a small man at all, but even he would be tiny next to this creature. Its skin appears tougher than human skin, and has odd ridges on the head and face, as well as the torso, which is bare- all it wears is boots and some scant armor that covers strategic parts of its body and nothing else. Its eyes are blood-red, with tiny pinpoints of black in the center.  
  
And its looking right at her.  
  
Gyda is a deer who has spotted a hunter, freezing in place so completely that she even stops breathing for a moment. It is a monster, and if there is anything that the stories of her childhood have taught her, it’s that the biggest and scariest monsters always have an appetite for children.  
  
The day before the forest had been clean, and she and Bjorn had played for a time before their mother had called for them. They hadn’t heard the first two calls, and so when the Lagertha’s voice rang out a third time with a dangerous undercurrent that they were usually smart enough not to draw from her, they had ran back home without a second thought. So alarmed was she by her mother’s impending wrath that Gyda had left her shield behind, and Lagertha was irate enough that she ordered her daughter to get it the next day. Overnight it had snowed, and Gyda had been searching for it when she had caught sight of this… thing.  
  
Through the icy fear that seizes her heart, Gyda can see that it is surprised at her appearance. It wasn’t expecting her, hadn’t heard her approach- and maybe the urge to eat children isn’t instinctual, because it does not have a ready-made solution for dealing with her.  
  
They can’t very well stay frozen in place forever, and Gyda is forced to adjust her footing in the snow. Though the motion is slight, it jolts them out of the moment. The creature’s torso has been half-turned away from her, and now it faces her completely- it is broad. Tall and broad and heavily muscled, and Gyda thinks ( _knows_ ) that it is probably powerful to kill her without any form of weapon. It can snap her like a twig.  
  
It makes a small noise in its throat, and then it starts towards her.  
  
Gyda is a few yards away, but this thing is big enough that it can reach her with only a few strides. But she is not some helpless child, oh no: She is a daughter of Ragnar and Lagertha, who have taught their children how to defend themselves.  
  
Gyda’s first reaction should be to attack, but she has no weapon- the next reaction is to flee. She cannot turn and run, because the monster will be upon her by then. Though the monster is large, there is an advantage, because Gyda is able to dive under it and roll away untouched.  
  
Ah, and what fortune! There is her shield, propped up against the tree where she had left it. Gyda seizes it quickly, relieved to find that it is not stuck to the ground. But she does not stop, knowing that she cannot hope to win a fight against something so large. She knows she must run quickly, ducking amongst the trees until she has either put enough distance between herself and the monster that she can loop around back to home, or until she encounters someone who can help.  
  
And run she does, trying her best not to slip and stumble and get stuck in the snow as she weaves between snow-covered bushes and branches and trees and rocks. The monster thunders along after her, and Gyda hears wood crackling and snapping (but not necessarily falling) behind her. It’s not quite strong enough to uproot the trees all on its own, and so it hits them with enough force to crack them before pushing past and continuing the chase.  
  
At first, Gyda has hope that maybe she _can_ outrun it. But that hope sinks and dies as the creature becomes accustomed to the terrain, dodges a bit better, and she can hear its footsteps growing closer and louder as it starts to close in on her, the ground shaking beneath her feet, upsetting her balance and making her stumble and slowing her down which lets it catch up-  
  
Something connects with Gyda’s back, and suddenly she’s flying through the air.  
  
She can’t be in the air for too long, but it is a mass of confusion and fear and trying to make sure she knows what to do, how to react- right up until something, possibly a tree, smashes against her right leg (or more appropriately, her leg smashes against the tree) and Gyda cries out hoarsely as she falls into the snow. She can’t move, can’t even crawl as every motion brings her agony. Of course, this gives the creature the perfect opportunity to catch up with her, and soon it stands above Gyda with its red eyes boring down into her own.  
  
She should scream. Bjorn is in town, but Ragnar is in the yard chopping wood, and Lagertha is tending to the pigs. If she screams, maybe they will hear her- assuming she hasn’t run too far away- and come running with swords and shields at the ready.  
  
But she tries and can’t, voice catching in her throat, too frightened to muster the sound. All she can do is raise her shield, a miniature version of her mother’s that had been gifted to her on her birthday, against the very large, probably very _strong_ monster above her. Lagertha taught her how to use it, but it was Ragnar who whispered into her ear that even broken and dying on the ground one should always resist an enemy, however useless things seemed to be.  
  
It knows the futility of her gesture, because its mouth twists into an awful smile as it laughs, the sound like two stones grinding together. It speaks in words she cannot understand, but it sounds like mockery and the words are no more pleasant to hear than the laugh.  
  
But Gyda steels herself, tries to mimic the fierce look her mother adopts when she fights, and grips the shield tightly against the impending blow.  
  
It never comes.  
  
Gyda is watching, but everything happens so quickly that even later on, once she’s had a chance to think about it, she won’t quite be able to articulate what happened. The giant raises one massive hand in a swift arc to strike at her- and then, abruptly, it is flying sideways through the air, stricken by a blurred figure to its left. So surprised is she, Gyda doesn’t have time to follow the movements with her eyes. All she hears is a pained yowl from the monster, stomping and shuffling and trees cracking and falling- and then, preceded by a wet, solid noise like something penetrating flesh, a death-howl.  
  
That awful, scratchy voice dies away, and soon there is silence.  
  
Wind blows through the forest, biting at Gyda’s skin and blowing snow down from the trees. The cold should be more bothersome, but Gyda’s blood is hot and she doesn’t feel it. Her leg is still unmovable, pulsing with pain that for the moment she is able to ignore, but it is more persistent than the cold and will become worse quickly. She is still as the dead, and still not entirely certain that she isn’t among them. Her eyes are stuck to the source of the intervention that has saved her.  
  
The man standing before her seems to be a man, unmistakably human if his physical appearance is anything to go by. His hair is brown with some slight streaks of dark gray, his eyes blue, and could be about the same age as Earl Haraldson, maybe a bit older. His armor is made up of intricate metal plates that are smoother and shinier than any metal Gyda has seen before, and the long cloak falling from his back is red.  
  
But what catches Gyda’s eye in particular is the shield in his hand. On its surface, worn and dented from battle, there are three triangles interlocked with one another: It is the _Valknut_ , the symbol of a fallen warrior. Gyda has seen it before, and many times it has been with…  
  
Her eyes widen as realization clicks.  
  
Meanwhile, the man gives her the same kind of smile her grandfather offered her when he was still alive, and kneels down beside her. “Are you hurt, child?”  
  
Gyda is still gaping a bit, but manages to nod, moving her shield so that he could see her leg. There’s no blood, but the way she’s holding it is a clear indication to him that it is injured. The man looks for a moment, but does not touch, and in the end gently picks Gyda up and cradles her in his arms, careful not to jostle her leg anymore than he has to. She feels small, and though she is not threatened by this man, she clutches her shield a little tighter. He notices, and smiles.  
  
“How fierce you were, defending yourself from the giant! Your parents will be proud. Which way is your home, so that I might return you to them?”  
  
He waits patiently for Gyda to get her bearings, turning her head left and right and trying to recall which way she had been running from. “That way,” She says after a moment of thought. “I think.”  
   
“Very well. Enough walking will bring us to someone eventually, one who might point us in the other direction anyways.” He starts walking, and Gyda stares up at his face. Upon closer inspection, though she has compared it to the very earthly-age of Earl Haraldson, the face is old. Something about it speaks of something ancient and powerful.  
  
Ragnar’s face speaks of something like impending heart-failure when he sees them emerge from the woods, this very _strange_ stranger carrying his daughter in his arms. It is Lagertha who must snap him out of it, slapping his back so that he can gently take Gyda from the man’s arms and bring her inside. Lagertha stays out, and presumably speaks with the stranger.  
  
“Are you all right?” Ragnar asks as he sets her down on his and Lagertha’s bed for the moment.  
  
“My leg hurts.”   
  
But Ragnar doesn’t know much of anything about healing (beyond emergency measures for things like gashes and bashed heads, at any rate) and Gyda knows it, which is why she is thankful that he goes back outside to get Lagertha without attempting anything. Her parents are gone for maybe ten minutes before they come back inside. They are both white as sheets, though Lagertha manages pretty well.  
  
She tends to Gyda while Ragnar sits down at the table, and Gyda has never seen her father so… Shocked. Ragnar is always one step ahead, always anticipating what will happen next and therefore never being surprised at what does take place. She relays the entire story to her mother as she treats her- Ragnar doesn’t appear to be listening- and Lagertha nods carefully without ever really acknowledging out-loud the wild nature of her account, never speaking the word “giant” or “monster” out loud.  
  
Gyda is laid-up in bed for three weeks after. Not only do her parents not speak of monsters, they do not speak of how she came to be injured at all. Lagertha is tight-lipped and practical, and Ragnar is almost dreamy in his disbelief. Gyda does not bother trying to convince them. She knows when to keep her mouth shut.  
  
And to her great fortune it is not the giant she dreams of at night, it does not chase her through nightmares- no, it is the strange man, mysterious and majestic. She thinks she knows who he might be, a sensation that is at once giddy and soberly awed rising in her stomach and throat as she considers it, but she does not dare to speak it.  
  
Gyda always awakes to the sound of the ravens outside.

**Author's Note:**

> The Valknut’s precise significance seems to be unclear (at least, according to Wikipedia), but one thing they do know is that it shows up with Odin quite a bit, and so I incorporated it into this story. 
> 
> And for those unfamiliar with Norse mythology or the Thor Marvel Universe, the Jǫtunn are the Frost-Giants and enemies of Odin/Asgard.


End file.
